So It Begins
by silverwolf8
Summary: Set in the summer following Harry's fifth year. Sirius is dead -- gone forever. Soon, Voldemort's new activities disturb the peace of the muggle and wizarding worlds alike, and the summer is not pleasant, especially for Harry. No slash. - CHAPTER 2
1. Morning of Chaos

DISCLAIMER: The settings in this fic don't belong to me, and the wonderful characters within those settings I unfortunately cannot claim, either -- they all belong to JKR and her amazing imagination. I only get to provide them with further adventures. :)

Note: Yes, this takes place in the summer proceeding Harry's fifth year, I'm afraid. Therefore Sirius is dead, as much as it grieves me to state that.

So It Begins -- Chapter 1: Morning of Chaos

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_A man, begging for mercy_..._ a serpent_..._ he, Harr_y... Slowly the dream he was having became dim and quiet, it was drifting away, and as he was wrenched from sleep, Harry knew he could not prevent his awakening. In a vain attempt to hold on to the wispy fragments of his straying dream, he nestled into the warmth of his pillow, but it was too late. Harry groaned as he realised why he had woken. Uncle Vernon was shouting again. For the past four days, his uncle had been called into his work's office at 5:30 in the morning, apparently because he was "required" when the new deliveries of drills arrived. As a result his temper was even worse than it normally was. Any minor disturbance or fault in his home -- which was, of course, Harry's fault -- would send him into a dangerous rage and nothing anyone said or did could calm him down.

Harry opened his eyes and automatically groped for his glasses on the dusty bed-side cabinet, and finding them he pushed them up his nose. He propped himself up against his pillow and listened to his uncle's roaring downstairs; it sounded as though he were fighting something, and this suspicion was confirmed when loud crashes added to the chaos.

"I - WILL - NOT - HAVE - RUDDY - OWLS - IN - MY - HOUSE!" bellowed Uncle Vernon. Harry was sure he felt the house tremor. Instantly jumping up and suppressing a heavy sigh of dismay, he flung himself at the door and opened it, now fully awake and alert. He ignored Aunt Petunia and Dudley -- who had emerged from their rooms, rubbing their eyes -- and raced down the stairs and into the living room, where Uncle Vernon had something -- a creature -- pinned none-too-gently against the cream spotless wall. His face was a very deep shade of beetroot and his breath arrived in harsh, snarling pants. The creature he was restraining was a brown tawny owl, hooting distressedly, with its two large wings crushed between the wall and Vernon Dursley's forceful flat palms. Harry immediately leapt forward.

"Let it go!" he shouted, seizing a fistful of the material of his uncle's shirt and yanking viciously. "Can't you see you're hurting it? Let go!"

"Stay out of the way, you!" Uncle Vernon spat. "This is your fault! I'll deal with you later, boy!"

But, naturally, Harry did not release his grip; instead he pulled with all the strength he could muster, and Uncle Vernon wobbled on his heels and fell directly backwards over the arm of the sofa. Harry managed to quickly dive out of the way just in time, but as he glanced down at the fistful of material he grasped in his fingers, his stomach yelched with horror. The owl fluttered wildly around the room, keeping close to the ceiling and hooting in pain and shock.

But that was the only movement in the room. It had turned still and silent, for both Harry and Uncle Vernon were staring disbelievingly at the patch of beige shirt in Harry's hand.

"You... you," spluttered Uncle Vernon, but in that moment a shrill scream rang around the living room. Harry whirled around to see Aunt Petunia striking out at the poor dazed owl, which was attempting to fly past her wild, floundering arms into the hall.

"No -- wait --" Harry yelled, and he made to push Aunt Petunia out of the way of the doorway to allow the owl space to fly out -- to no avail, for strong fingers painfully grasped a handful of his hair, wrenching his head backwards and twisting. The tight grip prevented him from running across the room and he arched his neck to see what was happening.

"YOU RIPPED MY SHIRT, BOY! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MONEY THAT SHIRT COST ME?"

Wincing at the additional pain now thumping in his ear, Harry cried, breathlessly, "Let it out -- it'll go up to my room -- it won't do any harm! -- it --"

"SILENCE! I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT THE BLOODY OWL! WHAT ABOUT MY SHIRT?"

"I don't care about your shirt! Just -- just let the owl out!"

"I AM AWARE THAT YOU DON'T CARE, YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE BRUTE, BUT I DO! AND NOW WHAT DO YOU PROPOSE I WEAR FOR MY CONFERENCE TODAY?"

"I don't know -- but it was an accident -- you wouldn't release it," Harry struggled to say, gritting his teeth against the pain in his scalp. Aunt Petunia was still shrieking and the owl had nowhere to go. Then he had an idea. "Look, you'd better let go of me now, or you'll pay for it if you don't."

"What are you talking about?" snarled Uncle Vernon, making no effort to slacken his grip; but there was a nervous edge to his voice now, which was badly disguised.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about!" Harry said. His eyes were beginning to stream with pain. "You can't have forgotten what my friends said to you that quickly! They meant it, you know, every word -- they will come when I tell them to!"

Hesitantly, Uncle Vernon released Harry's hair, and Harry could tell that he was afraid; once he had let go completely Harry straightened up from where he had been crouching on the floor and raked his hand through his untidy black mop, merely checking that the hairs were still attached to his head.

"Now," he said stiffly, addressing Aunt Petunia, "move away from the door so it can fly through. It won't hurt you, it's only scared" - he cast a hateful glance at Uncle Vernon - "and it just wants to get to my room. So, if you don't mind...?"

Aunt Petunia took tiny steps sideways, her thin, bony face distorted in fear and disgust. The owl gave a small hoot of relief and hurriedly swooped out of the chaotic room, where ornaments had shattered onto the carpet. Turning reluctantly to stare at his uncle, Harry sighed, his expression showing nothing but defiance.

"How dare you speak to your Aunt in such a manner," said Uncle Vernon dangerously, barely above a whisper.

"How dare you treat a harmless owl doing its job like that," retorted Harry coolly. He wasn't afraid of Vernon Dursley any more, and he never again would be: he could say anything he liked to him.

"Don't push it, boy," Vernon growled.

"That's funny, you'd think my words were written on a door," replied Harry sarcastically.

There was an icy pause. Harry and Uncle Vernon glared at one another for a long moment, in which Harry felt certain his uncle would any minute snap and violently lunge forward to grab and shake him, but then Vernon growled with rage and pushed past Harry, sweeping out of the room. The front door was opened and was a second later slammed shut, its windows rattling. Harry wondered if he actually realised how large the tattered hole in his shirt was.

Feeling heavy and irritated, he turned to confront Aunt Petunia -- who still stood tensely with her back to the wall -- but to his surprise, she avoided his eye and made no verbal response to the incident. Harry felt pleased with this, as he didn't feel like having another battle, but still he was slightly puzzled: Aunt Petunia had not spoken a word to him all summer. He was used to nasty, spiteful comments regularly being passed his way, but no communication from her at all was rare. Although, he had to admit, it _was_ an improvement. So, shrugging to himself slightly, he ignored her completely and hastily exited the living room.

Dudley was nowhere to be seen as he strode upstairs to his bedroom. When he reached his door he kicked it wider open, shutting it behind him and sliding across the bolt on the lock that he had constructed himself. A soft hoot sounded from the top of his battered wardrobe. Hedwig perched there, and the owl that had suffered Uncle Vernon's attack was huddled close to her; Harry noticed the letter tied to its clawed foot. The snowy owl nipped at the tawny owl's beak in what Harry guessed to be a form of comfort; and then she flew down to Harry's shoulder, encouraging it to swoop down also. It did, and Harry noted with concern the way in which it flew wonkily, hesitantly landing on the unmade bed.

"Hullo there," said Harry softly, sitting beside it and offering his hand. It hopped up and settled on his arm, gazing at him with wide, sad eyes. "Sorry about my uncle... he's like that. He doesn't care about anyone or anything else." It nipped his finger affectionately in the same way as Hedwig did. "A letter, hmm? I wonder who it's from." Gently, he untied the string around its leg and removed the folded piece of parchment.

After unfolding it and smoothing out the creases, he began to read.

_Dear Harry,_

_I was glad to receive a reply from you as early as I did. It's relieving to know that you are doing all right, and that the Dursleys are treating you reasonably. But remember, if ever you're being spoken to unpleasantly and unfairly, contact us at once. I think Mad-Eye's actually hoping that you will. He's taken a certain disliking to your Uncle Vernon, and has been ranting about how he wishes to "put him in his place" all this time since we saw you last. I know you would probably enjoy the occurrence thoroughly, but Molly especially was becoming quite anxious. She soon had words with him. Fear not _–_ he will not suddenly appear on your doorstep._

_Things with the Order are well. We've received a bit of bad news lately, of which I cannot disclose in this letter - but apart from that, most of us are safe and well and the summer has not turned out as badly as we predicted. Dumbledore is planning to remove you from your situation soon, Harry, but just be patient and don't think that we have forgotten about you. We haven't. A bunch of us shall arrive there to collect you soon, I should think. He just seems to be waiting for the right time._

_I know things have been hard, lately, and hopefully when you arrive at Headquarters we shall have a chance to talk. Dumbledore also wishes to talk to you. Until then, try to keep your head high and keep writing to us, and to Ron and Hermione. I know for a fact that they are both eager to see you again as soon as possible. We all are. Please write back _–_ keep us up to date with the household as it currently stands. And look after yourself._

_On behalf of everyone,_

_Remus Lupin_

Frowning slightly, Harry looked up from the letter and unseeingly stared into space. Although he knew that Lupin would never lie to him, there was a certain tone to his words that gave him the feeling that everything was not OK -- as if Lupin was hiding or avoiding something. But, perhaps he, like Harry, was still mourning Sirius and he was trying to appear stronger than he truly felt... after all, Harry's own letters had taken a great deal of effort to write this summer. Maybe they had sounded as forced and disguising as this one did.

Shaking off the thought and absently stroking Hedwig's silky feathers, Harry glanced down at the parchment for a second time. "... but apart from that, most of us are safe and well..." _Most_ of them were safe and well? Harry was worried at this. Had someone been attacked, or even killed? Was that perhaps what Lupin was referring to when he had written about the Order having "received a bit of bad news"? He wished Lupin had been able to disclose the information: waiting to be told was already painful.

The unfamiliar owl balanced on his forearm was startled as Harry abruptly rose. It ruffled its feathers disgruntledly.

"Sorry," mumbled Harry, and he set the owl back upon his bed -- at which Hedwig abandoned his shoulder to keep it company -- before settling in the creaky old chair at his desk and pulling out crumpled pieces of parchment. Finding a leaf that was decent enough to write on, he picked up a quill and thought for a moment before setting it to the parchment's surface. Then he wrote:

_Dear Professor Lupin,_

_Everything soun_ …

But he was interrupted by a sudden noise outside his window. He whirled around in the chair and looked through the dirty glazing. Tapping on the glass with its beak, another owl -- slightly smaller than the previous -- hovered in mid-air. Immediately he pushed his window up and it glided through, landing directly on his desk and wafting the parchment all over the floor.

"Ahh, no," Harry groaned, moving to gather it all together. But the owl was stubborn and held out its leg, where a letter had been hastily tied, and Harry undid that and unfolded the parchment instead.

Thinking that it might be urgent, Harry quickly read it. The handwriting was not tidy but hurriedly scrawled.

_Harry _–

_Only minutes after I sent the first owl, some information reached the Order. Dumbledore has instructed me to write to you as soon as possible. You are not to leave the house at all until further notice. Not even to go into your back garden. It is incredibly important that you obey us. And I know it will be difficult, but you must try to persuade your family not to leave it, either. You will be safe as long as you remain INDOORS. You'll be filled in as soon as we get you out of there, I promise. _

_I must go _–_ duty for the Order. If any problems or worries arise, Harry, contact Mrs. Figg by telephone._

_Remus Lupin_

Harry's heart pounded within his ribcage. The way Lupin wrote, anyone would think Lord Voldemort himself was coming to the peaceful area of Little Whinging. Clasping a stained piece of parchment, he grabbed his quill, dipped it hastily in the ink and began to scribble a reply...

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Note: Well, that's that... posted. A first fic here (gulp), so I beg you to be friendly. I've been reading fic after fic on this site for so long and I just had to attempt my own. Chapters will be relatively short, I'm afraid, but it's the only way I can update without having long intervals between postings, as I, like many others, lack spare time. Reviews would be highly appreciated! Thanks!


	2. A Sighting and a Dream

DISCLAIMER: The settings in this fic don't belong to me, and the wonderful characters within those settings I unfortunately cannot claim, either -- they all belong to JKR and her amazing imagination. I only get to provide them with further adventures. :)

Thanks for your reviews, folks!

So It Begins - Chapter 2: A Sighting and a Dream

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After a quarter of an hour, Harry had finished his reply, and he leaned back into his desk's chair with a sigh. In truth, it wasn't very long -- certainly not the substantial amount for fifteen minutes of careful thinking and writing -- but after all, he did have the entire day and evening, now that he'd been ordered to "remain indoors". The owl that had delivered the instruction sat patiently on his desk, a wearied look in its eye; Harry knew it wanted to do nothing more than rest.

"Yes, I do have to use you," said Harry, quickly signing his name at the bottom of his message. "Lupin's other owl's injured and I've been told not to use Hedwig too often."

It hooted in response and held out its leg.

"Wait a minute, I want to check it." From a recent letter that Moody had sent him, he was extremely conscious of the fact that proof-reading was absolutely necessary for anything he sent by owl. 'One can never be too careful,' Moody had written; 'a small slip of the hand and the Dark Lord could have all the information he wants passed onto him…'

_Professor,_

_Something bad is going on and I want to know what. And yes, I know you'll be able to tell me when you get me out of here, but I want to know when "when" actually is (but, of course, I know you can't tell me that either). _

_Don't worry, I'll be a good boy and follow Dumbledore's order. But I can't stop my family. They wouldn't listen to me even if I tried and in the case of my uncle it's too late anyway. They wouldn't understand the danger, whatever the danger is._

_I'm really sorry about this, but my uncle was in a very bad temper earlier on and I think your owl (the first one) is hurt. Its wing looks injured. I don't know what to do about this myself and I don't think it can fly very well. I think I'd better take care of it here until you arrive to pick me up._

_Please try and tell me some of what's happening. _

_Hope to see you all soon –_

_Harry_

Yes, that would do. Of course, there was a whole lot more he wished to say -- enough to outrun one of Hermione's Potions essays in length, in fact -- but he knew he had to be exceptionally wary, in case the letter was intercepted. He'd grown accustomed to this by now… even the lack of information in his friends' letters had not angered him this summer, because he could now understand their caution with words. It was difficult, it was frustrating, but he could well guess the consequences, if the messages were to fall into the wrong hands. Consequences he didn't even want to consider.

Harry folded the letter neatly and tied it to the owl's clawed foot.

"Now, take this to wherever Lupin's staying," he ordered, "but if he's elsewhere right now, wait for him to get back."

The owl hooted shrilly in understanding, ruffling its feathers and spreading its wings. Harry had never before considered the intelligence of wizarding owls, but now he thought about it, they really were quite clever to comprehend specific instructions as such. Harry opened the window and the owl took off, swooping smoothly through the gap… and soon it had disappeared into the misty grey sky.

Misty grey sky… For a moment or two, held by a strange curiosity, Harry peered at it intently. It was indeed a grim morning in Surrey -- definitely not an upcoming day you'd choose for sunbathing -- but that was nothing new, as the weather had been dull throughout the entire summer. It was the clouds that struck him. He blinked a few times to be certain he was not seeing things. Up above, a great vortex of clouds consisting of various colours -- grey, blue, black, violet, light pink, cream -- whirled, driven in a tight circular motion by an invisible force. One would assume that the small area of Little Whinging was a luring magnet: the centre of the moving spiral of clouds was thick and dark, but as Harry's eyes moved away from the middle he noticed the thin, white wisps drawing nearer and nearer towards it, as if being sucked in. He'd never seen anything like this before, and he did not like it in the slightest.

Hurriedly, he withdrew his head from the open air and slammed the window shut. Then he drew the curtains across. Why should he pay attention to the weather? Didn't he have more important things to worry about? They were only clouds, after all, and there was probably a scientific muggle explanation for it -- nothing major. He tried to forget about it as he looked around in search of what he should do with his confinement to the house. He supposed he should make a start on his Transfiguration essay, in which he was supposed to explain the difference between transfiguring a kettle and transfiguring a crow. After all, Hermione's probably finished hers by now, Harry thought to himself gloomily.

Reluctantly, he settled at his desk once more, and opened his textbook. It was 5:20 in the morning.

* * *

_The black cloaked figure clasped the human's bare forearms, its foul, rotten hands allowing the cowering man no escape… not this time. It had waited too long. Its harsh rattling, the rattling of cold breath, became louder as the Dementor bowed its head. _

_"No, please -- don't, don't," the wizard whispered. He tried to call for aid, but his vocal chords supplied only a harsh croak. _

_Its long, vile fingers embedded more deeply in the ashen skin._

_"No," wailed the man, "I'll do anything. Please."_

_But the Dementor had now lowered its hood. Slowly it leaned forward, as if drawn… Its mouth made contact with the wizard's, and sucked, inhaled forcefully… The desperate wailing had stopped… The man was…_

"SIRIUS!"

Harry's eyes flew open in terror and he immediately clapped a hand over his mouth. A nightmare… that's all it had been… just a nightmare. Wildly he scanned the room: no dementor, no Sirius… well of course no Sirius, Sirius was already dead. It was impossible for the Dead to have their souls sucked out.

Harry clenched his eye-lids together and covered his face with his hands. No… not again…

All of a sudden the door opened; Harry didn't even register who it was.

"What are you shouting for _now_?" sneered a voice. A gruff, taunting voice. Dudley.

Gathering himself together somewhat, Harry looked at his cousin and willed himself to stop shuddering.

"I was… asleep. What… what d'you mean, _now_?"

Dudley smirked, enjoying Harry's state of weakness. "You're always calling out someone's name," he said, "I've heard you. Last year it was… what's his name, that other guy -- Cedric. Yeah. And now it's 'Sirius'. Running through your boyfriends a bit fast, aren't you, Potter?"

"Don't be such a pathetic bastard, Dudley!" Harry hissed.

"Watch your mouth, Potter," said Dudley; "after all, you're the one without the father, not me."

"Get out," said Harry in a low, dangerous voice. "Get out -- now!"

Dudley raised his hands and smirked, but made no move backwards. Harry saw that he wore his red boxing gloves.

"GET _OUT_!" Harry yelled suddenly. And he lunged forward and rammed into Dudley so hard that Dudley was pushed back to the wall behind. This was actually a big achievement for Harry, who had never forced 'Big D' to do anything through his own physical force before.

Dudley, too, was shocked, and Harry took advantage of this. As his cousin winced at the contact with the wall, he turned around and slammed the door to his room shut once he was inside. He searched for the lock on the door -- how had Dudley entered when the door had been locked? -- but found that Dudley had put his Boxing skills into good use. The door had been punched open.

Wanting to do nothing but scream in fury, and cry in despair, Harry collapsed on his bed and pulled the duvet over himself. He was already sick of this. There was nothing in the world that he hated more than the Dursleys… besides Voldemort, and Peter Pettigrew, who were the reasons for the absence of his parents. But the Dursleys were the only blood relatives he had left and he despised them all so much that it burned inside. Life in Number Four Privet Drive was unbearable.

And these nightmares did not aid anything. Ever since Sirius had fallen through the Veil, but more so since he'd returned here from Hogwarts, nearly every night had been plagued with horrific dreams… nightmares. It was always the same. Sirius would suffer a terrible fate, and Harry could do absolutely nothing about it. The images shown to him in his sleep provided nothing but torment.

And because of this, Harry suffered -- in more ways than one. He was frightened of falling asleep because of what he would see there, so every evening he did everything in his power to remain awake, to resist slumber. This had worked well, at first... but now he was so exhausted from lack of rest that his eyes were sore and heavy; it was becoming harder to keep them open after dark. But he had to… there was no other way to escape.

He didn't care what Dumbledore had told him, on the morning following that eventful night -- it was Harry's fault that Sirius had died… How could he have been so stupid? So utterly damn stupid! Voldemort had taken him for the fool that he was, and he had just played along with it… how could he have thought to go to the Department of Mysteries, to rescue his Godfather, without realising that something was strange? After all, he'd been dreaming about the door, the dark corridor, for months… he should have seen. He should have, and he hadn't… and he felt so worthless because of it.

Sirius. How Harry longed to be with him again, to laugh with him and grin at his words; to play Chess and Exploding Snap with such passion that they would both do nothing else for hours on end; to talk about James and to have Sirius relive their former adventures at school; to have someone there for him constantly, reassuring and advising, encouraging; to sit in companionable silence and feel completely comfortable; to feel his godfather's secure arms around him again. To feel Sirius' warm presence again.

Only three times Sirius had ever hugged him, as he could recall: all at Grimmauld Place, in the holidays. But he remembered the feeling of each embrace as clearly as he remembered leaving the Dursleys to come to Hogwarts… each was special, and he only wished there had been more to follow. So many times this summer he had pleaded with thin air to allow Sirius to materialise before him -- just so he could fling himself into his arms and tell him the pain he felt -- just so he could pretend to have a father figure again.

The impossibility of this desire ripped his insides into tiny, inflamed pieces -- to the point where he felt numb and utterly hollow. The one person who could banish some of his grief was the reason for his grief. Nothing could help now. Nothing. And nothing else mattered.

Suddenly, Harry jolted up in his bed, having found his heavy eyes closed. He felt drowsy, and he knew that given another minute or two he would have fallen asleep for a second time, which he definitely didn't want right now. Pushing the warm duvet away from his body, he got out of bed and stretched. Well, the day had started -- glancing at his clock he saw that it was now nearly 9 o'clock -- so he might as well start with it for a second time.

He reached the battered old wardrobe in three paces and, after pulling out faded jeans and a T-shirt, quickly dressed. Then he opened the door, preparing to venture downstairs.


End file.
